


Tell the Story of Tonight

by Blazing_Fire01



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon verse, F/M, FRANCES I'M SORRY, Fluff, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Sad, dear god its sad, messy timeline, there's abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blazing_Fire01/pseuds/Blazing_Fire01
Summary: John Laurens left a lot behind.John Laurens left a wife behind.John Laurens left a daughter behind.Frances-Eleanor Laurens wants answers.While sneaking away from her abusive uncle across the city, she hopes that’s what she gets.Alexander Hamilton is at work constantly.Alexander Hamilton lost his best friend over ten years ago.Can you imagine his surprise when his best friends daughter appears on his doorstep, begging for answers about her father?Can you imagine what will happen if he declines?





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the archive warnings. There are very....gory moments that some may need to look out for! If its anything too bad, there'll be a warning in the notes.

The streets were busy. Busy and cold. Busy, cold, and thriving. Frances never made it this far away from the apartment, this deep into the city before. It was kind of cold, being early December, but Frances didn’t have a better time to do this. Three months, twelve days, and thirty dollars got to where she was at that point, hugging herself without a jacket, her red curls over her shoulders. She prayed that no bruises were too visible. The sixteen year old had been sure to keep an eye on the sky, the buzz on the street being about some sort of storm. 

“Watch it red!” A southern drawl came from over her shoulder. 

“Oh-- sorry---!” Frances’ more...french accent raped her words as she curtsied. It had only been a year and a half since Frances had gotten back to America after growing up in France with her aunt. 

Frances stepped aside, looking over her shoulder to the dark skinned man towering above her, his hair poofy. He wore a purple velvet suit and carried a cane that, from what Frances could tell, he had no use for. ‘Dresses like fake royalty….’ Frances found herself thinking. Her eyes examined the two men following him like lost dogs. One was short and sickly, he had already coughed three times. The third was lean and tall, not as tall as the one Frances had bumped into. Bald. Quite preserved. 

“Wait, sir--! Do you by chance know of an Alexander Hamilton?” 

The girl knew this wasn’t true, but the city seemed to fall collectively silent. All eyes on her. The man turned to relook to Frances. Well, more like...look...down. This man was extremely tall. And Frances was pretty short. Fear grew in her stomach that his man was Alexander. By the almost-- offended look on his face, she realized---

“What does a young, pretty girl like you want anything to do with that womanizer?” He raised a brow, kneeling to meet her eye level. Frances found herself wondering if he carried the cane for support when he had to kneel. “He’s not having an affair with you too, is he?” He let out a laugh. 

“Thomas--” The coughing man took a step forward, looking to Frances with almost reluctant eyes. “May we ask what business you have with the man?”

Feeling her stomach drop, Frances took a small step back. “My name is Frances-Eleanor Laurens. I believe that he knew my father, John Laurens.” 

It was the third man’s time to step forward, eyes kind of wide. He stepped in between Thomas and Frances, looking to her. “His house isn’t far. Allow me to walk you, miss--” He offered an arm, sending an apologetic look to the other two. 

Frances looked to him, carefully taking his arm. “What did those men mean by womanizer? And an aff--” She paused. The vague memory of catching a glimpse of the post that day crossed her mind. The Reynolds Pamphlet. She hadn’t stopped to read it. A man’s private life should never been published in the first place! She wouldn’t read it. That had been written by the same Alexander? God, she needed to get out more. 

“I suppose you may figure that out soon enough, Frances-Eleanor,” the man beside her hummed slightly, leading her down the street. “May I just ask...why would you come to Alexander for this information? Your mother doesn’t have it? Or perhaps you aunt, or uncle?” Aaron had a lot of questions. Why Frances would be in Manhattan, and not South Carolina. Why she seemed so nervous and jumpy. Why the poor girl lacked a simple cover to put over her dress, much more simple then he would expect the granddaughter of Henry to have. 

Looking around as her companion asked this, her gaze fell upon a pub, by the sounds of it, full of life, lights, and voices. It was almost welcoming. It felt so...familiar. 

“My mother passed only a year before him,” Frances couldn’t help but peer in through the windows, causing Burr to slow to a stop. There was a somewhat dusty, booth in the back, carvings in the wood of it and the benches. She wanted to go in. “As for my aunt, she doesn’t care much for me. And Henry--” Her voice seemed to hitch slightly, but she quickly regained her posture. “He doesn’t prefer to talk about him.” 

“You know, I was a close friend of your father as well, Miss Frances. Granted, not as close as he was with Alexander, and quite possibly not in that way--” Burr upturned his nose. “In fact, he used to go to this very same bar nightly,” he set his hand on her shoulder, making her flinch slightly. “That booth you’re looking at. That was his favorite spot. He met Monsieur Lafayette, and Hercules Mulligan there every chance he got. That’s where he first met Alexander, as well.”

Frances’ gaze became somewhat distant, as if she was working out the scene in her head of a casual night between her father, godfather, and uncles. “Sir, if you’re suggesting I get information from yourself, I’ll have to politely decline. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve worked long enough to get here.”

Aaron couldn’t help but glare slightly before regaining his composure. “Entirely understandable, Miss Laurens,” he gave a small nod. “This is where I’ll let you go, then. Good luck with Alexander,” with not another warning, he walked back into the sea of people. 

Inhaling, Frances hiked up her skirts, about to take after him before getting cut off by a carriage being pulled past. She fell backwards with a yipe. 

 

“He’s just having a hard time. Just lost a wife, you see,” Frances turned when she realized she was being spoken to. A boy around the same age as herself stood back on the sidewalk, extending a hand to help Frances to her feet. Frances obliged. 

The boy was handsome. Though not too much taller than her, he held a thin frame. Curls fell down to his shoulders, framing his face. His complexion was tan, very, very lightly littered with freckles. He wore a grey tailcoat, which looked very nice on him. Looking at him gave Frances butterflies in her stomach, She wanted to digest him. 

“Are you searching for my pops?” He turned his head to the side, holding Frances’ hand. He noticed the look she gave him and smiled. He bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Philip Hamilton.”

Frances seemed dumbstruck. She curtsied. “Frances-Eleanor Laurens.” 

“I’ll walk you the rest of the way. Not that I have any reason to believe that you should want to meet my father---” Philip sighed before flashing Frances a smile, adjusting and setting a hand on her lower back to lead the way. 

\--

Alex’s life had been practical hell the last month. Publishing the pamphlet had seemed like a good idea at the time! Now, after being chewed out by Angelica, and receiving the silent treatment from Eliza, he began to think differently. He had only wanted to come clean. He didn’t want rumors to spread. 

The man set his quill down with a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. He stared down at the parchment on his desk. Since all this hate had filled his vision and head, writer’s block had seemed to struck him. It had passed annoying into disrespectful. Alex flinched slightly as there was a knock on his office’s door. He stood, clearing his throat. 

“Come in--” 

His eldest son, Philip, opened the door. The only one who hadn’t shown much resentment towards Alex, well, the only one old enough to even realize what was going on. William and Elizabeth hadn’t quite understood yet, but once they did, it wouldn’t be good. William was a ball of anger already. 

Behind Philip stood a girl, maybe a year or so younger than he. She had long red hair that tumbled over her shoulders. It was wavy and curly, yet not frizzy, She had extremely freckled skin. Her frame was petite, almost sickly and fragile. She slouched slightly, as if it hurt to stand up straight. The resemblance to someone Alex once knew struck him. He just couldn’t place a finger on it. 

“Pops, this is Frances-Eleanor Laurens. She’s been looking for you--” Philip stepped out of the way, so she could enter the room. Frances stood uneasy, looking to Alexander and curtsying. 

Alex stared at the girl, falling into a shade of shock. Laurens...as in… Oh God. He suddenly found himself unable to breathe. Now that the name was mentioned, the resemblance between the girl and his late friend had seemed uncanny. Despite the hair color difference, and Frances being slightly paler… The same smile, though subtle, seemed possible to melt ice. The same dark green eyes, with a slight imperfection of a sliver of brown in one iris, that only seemed to make them more perfect. 

Frances looked to Alexander, almost worriedly. She glanced to Philip for approval before taking a few steps further into the office. She walked with a slight limp. Alex wondered why. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to come here so unannounced. I-I swear that I won’t take up too much of your time--” Frances glanced over Alexander. He seemed uneasy. Almost...fragile. It was obvious he hadn’t slept much. Only running off fumes and possibly coffee. It appeared that he had aged a lot in a small frame of time. Like within the past few weeks. His hair was streaked with grey. 

The man glanced over Frances, as if expecting her to explode. Why was she here? Well, that was actually probably easy to guess. Alex didn’t want her here. How do you politely scream at your late best friend’s daughter to get the hell out of your home? 

“Frances-Eleanor. It’s a pleasure. Can I get you any refreshments?” Alex plastered on a smile, standing back up. 

She glanced to Philip, as if wondering if it would be okay to accept anything from a man that she was about to ask so much of. Philip shrugged. As cold and hungry as Frances was, she shook her head, declining.   
“Sir, if I could just...ask a few things of you--” 

“Miss Lau-- Frances,” he couldn’t say it. “If this is about what I think it is--” Alex paused, watching Frances’ expression fall. It now resembled a puppy who just got scolded for chewing on a shoe. It reminded him of John after the bartender would cut him off after his eighth beer. He felt his stomach drop. This wasn’t fair. To Frances or Alex.   
“I’m afraid that I cannot help much---” He wanted to say. He didn’t get it out. He bit his lip. “What would you like to know about your father?” 

This would be good, right? Alex had never opened up after John died. Maybe this would help. 

\--

“I met him my first week in America,” Alex spoke as he rummaged through the drawers of his desk for a certain envelope. “We clicked right away. Well, me, with Mulligan and Lafayette--”

“Who?” Frances frowned slightly, watching Alexander. Her mind flashed back briefly to the day she had been told it had happened. She had only been what...four? Five? So young, yet she remembered her aunt telling her so vividly. 

\--

“Frances, dear, come here, please--” 

It hadn’t been long after the death of her mother, who had gotten ill. Frances too had gotten sick, well, actually, that wouldn’t happen for another two days after she had been informed of John. It would have her bedridden for months. Frances still remembered her aunt’s husband, David, shouting to her aunt at night about the doctor bills Frances was bring in, and that she, not being their own kid, wasn’t worth it. Frances always wondered if that was true.

The mail had just came, Frances knew this due to the fact that her aunt walked her to get it. The town had been abuzz with news of the war possibly coming to an end. This had made Frances happy! Her Dad would come to France to get her, and she would no longer be a burden to her aunt and uncle!

This is when Frances learned to never let her hopes get too high.

Over the years, the girl had heard many different variations of the story of how her father died. A duel. Suicide. Illness. She no longer wanted to hear stories of her father’s death. 

“Frances-Eleanor, love. Your father...is dead. He...apparently was killed in a duel between a man named Charles Lee and himself. By the sounds of it, he was pressured into it by a colleague of his by the name of Alexander Hamilton,” Frances didn’t know at the time that that was a complete lie. 

\--

Watching Alex now, Frances started to doubt that story. John and Alexander had obviously been close. So could be really be responsible for her father’s death? This whole thing seemed complicated. It now seemed just as much of a lie as her Uncle Henry’s story. 

But this is why she was here. She sought answers that nobody else would give her. 

“I remember the day like it was yesterday…” Alex sent Frances a shallow smile. God, she looked so much like John. Even sitting there listening to some half-assed story. Leaned forward in their seat, resting on their elbows, eyes wide as they nodded solemnly. Like it was the best thing they had ever heard...like they could listen for hours without ever getting bored. Alex raised a brow as Frances gave a nod. 

Tilting his head, he squinted slightly. “I had had a pretty eventful morning--” And so he launched into the first of many stories he would tell Frances-Eleanor.

\--

“When can you come by next?” Philip held Frances by the arm as he helped her off the porch of his home. Snow had begun to drift to the ground again, having stopped within the three hours that Frances had sat in Alex’s office. 

Frances attempted to hug herself, the chill getting to her. “I’m not sure, it all depends….”

 

“On?” 

The ginger forced a laugh. You’re kind of curious, aren’t you?” 

Philip offered a small grin. “I just want to be sure I’ll see you again, Miss Laurens--” The two began down the steps. 

“Like I said, I’m not too sure,” Frances blushed, smiling sheepishly. “I hope it’ll be soon. I want to be seeing more of you as well, Mr Hamilton.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW/NON CON WARNING

“Frances, it occurs to me that maybe I should have alarmed you before we started these...sessions that you need to brace yourself for the worst,” Alexander reached across the desk with his tea kettle, pouring some into Frances’ cup, held tightly in her nimble fingers. It had been a good week since Frances had reappeared at Alexander’s doorstep, shivering, still without a jacket, even in the middle of a blizzard. Alex couldn’t bring himself to question her about it, so only demanded that she drank something warm. 

Frances’ ginger hair was more tangled than the other day, she looked a little paler too. That tended to worry Alex a bit as well. But once again he didn’t question it. He had yet to know much about the girl’s living situations, considering her mother dead and aunt in France. He had not considered her grandparents, her grandmother being dead and grandfather in South Carolina. 

“How do you mean?” Frances took a long sip of her tea, not minding the fact that it was probably still boiling hot. 

Alex hesitated. John Laurens hadn’t been such a saint. There were quirks about him that should concern many. Alex knew that Frances-Eleanor would be expecting some sort of hero. Not that John hadn’t been a hero. Just not the one Frances was probably imagining.

“So...he’ll seem even more amazing than you’re already expecting, of course!” Alexander gave an, almost nervous, smile to the young woman. 

Once again sipping her tea, Frances gave a small frown. “Yeah, I suppose that does make sense.Though, to be fair, the things that other family members and acquaintances of him haven’t given me much to hope for.”

Alex frowned at that. 

\--

“Frances, you should get going before it gets too dark,” Eliza made her way into the office, looking to the ginger who was reading over a letter so intensely, the woman became fearful a vein might pop in her forehead. 

The girl looked up from the multiple paged letter, numbered in the corner. The thin, fine, cursive handwriting Frances could now recognize as her father’s decorated each line. The amount of paged felt thick between her fingers. There had to be at least twenty pages. And this was just the third one she had read...over hundreds. Frances seemed almost fearful to go, knowing that it would be another few weeks before she could return, and by then would have very well forgotten the contents of what she had read so far. 

Alexander cleared his throat. “Why don’t you take that one with you, along with a couple more. Then you can return them next time you come,” he offered Frances a small, tired smile before passing her the envelope, empty, yet bulged from holding such a thick content of papers for so many years. 

“I’ll get Philip to walk you home,” Eliza spoke once more before turning to head out to the main room, towards the sound of faint piano playing. 

Frances had become quite a….fan of Philip’s. She greatly enjoyed seeing him, and found her stomach catching butterflies each time he was the one to answer the door when she came. His piano skills were magnificent, and his poetry amazing. Just the mere thought of him could get her heart fluttering, like it was about to explode, go boom! Or so it seemed to be… 

Tucking the envelopes that were handed to her away, so they were well hidden, Frances spoke a final farewell to Alexander before heading to meet Philip by the front door. 

The curly haired teen flashed her a mischievous smile before offering an arm to her as an escort. Smiling, Frances obliged.

\--

Philip scanned the area in front of him. Due to the late hour and cold weather, the streets were almost bare. The only people being a mother with her two children, and a couple of drunken men who found it necessary to be singing at the top of their lungs. He noticed how shaky Frances’ breathing sounded, and noticed her shivering. Her freckled cheeks were bright pink from the cold, her eyes watering. Frowning, Philip immediately slipped off his coat, draping it over her shoulders, which seemed to take Frances by surprise. 

“But, won’t you be cold….?” She frowned, already about to shrug off the jacket. 

Keeping an arm on her shoulder, Philip shook his head with a reassuring smile. “No, I’m alright. It’s not too cold out to me,” seeing the embarrassed flush run through Frances’ face, his eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that like-- you’re a puss to cold! I meant like, you said you just moved from South Carolina! And it’s warm there! So you’re body isn’t used to--”

 

He was cut short by Frances bursting out laughing, a big smile brightening her features. Philip’s heart seemed to flutter right out of his chest, as he immediately took in the beautiful sight. He acknowledged how she tucked her head between her shoulders and covered her mouth some as the giggles escaped from her lips. He seen that when she smiled big enough, her eyes got a little crinkle-y. Philip let out a small snort of laughter, though still admiring her. Before he knew it they were both laughing. So loud and hard that they were actually hushed by the two drunken men. 

After taking a moment or so to calm down, Frances wiped the tears from her eyes, still smiling slightly, though not as big. She gave a sigh, before looking to Philip with a slight sigh before they both continued walking. 

\--

Frances hadn’t let Philip walk her all the way to the door. As soon as she noticed the candle light in the window of the shacked home, the ginger felt her heart practically stop. Unable to withhold the gasp that escaped, she bit her lip and glanced to Philip, who sent her a confused glance. 

Play it cool, she told herself, stopping at the house beside her own, though not walking all the way to the door. Frances looked to Philip and gave a smile. “Thank you, for walking me home. It was really sweet of you to take the time--” She mentioned. 

Philip frowned slightly, looking from Frances, to the house. “Wasn’t your house one over last time?” He mentioned, tilting his head slightly. 

Frances played dumb, glancing over her shoulder. She could see Henry’s silhouette through the window, stumbling and such. Drunk, Frances thought. As usual. “Uh...no? It’s this one. Right here.” She gestured to the second house. “This one is mine. Thank you for walking me home. Send Angelica and the others my love…” She flicked her hand slightly, as if meaning to shoo him away. 

Philip nodded, wanting to argue but at the same time just wanting to get out of the cold. He reached and took Frances’ hand, bringing it to his lips before pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles with a smile, blushing some when he noticed her blush. 

Giving a moment of hesitation, Philip straightened himself, thanking Frances as she passed him his coat back and sliding it on. “Au revoir, douce jeune fille,” he spoke, though unsure if she would be able to translate it. 

To her surprise, she matched him with “Jusqu'à ce qu'on se revoie, gentil monsieur,” Frances smiled sweetly. 

And thus Philip left, not turning back.

\--

The first thing Frances was greeted with as she slipped through the door of the home was an explosive pain shooting through the back of her head, causing her knees to buckle beneath her. Wheezing some, she tried to fight to her feet, before feeling the swift kick to her stomach. A strangled sob escaped as she squinted to try and clear her vision, looking up in fear to the man above her.

Henry Laurens was a tall and buff man. He matched John’s features, with light skin, freckles, and the curly hair. Though Henry’s hair was much shorter, and he was much fatter from the amount of alcohol he drank and food he ate. He looked more like his father than his brother, possibly. 

The man knelt in front of his niece. Henry smiled thinly when she could feel him trembling beneath his glare. He reached and put a hand on her shoulder before then throwing her into the wall and pinning her there. Henry leaned close to Frances, pressing his lips close to her ear. “So, are you going to tell me where you’ve been for the past five hours?” He cooed slightly, running a hand down her arm. The fabric of Frances’ dress was cold from the snow. Henry tightened his grip, his other hand going to her thigh which he caressed some, before traveling to find the hem of her skirt. 

Frances trembled, her body aching. She knew what was coming, and there would be no escaping it, whether she gave her uncle the true story or not. Goosebumps of fear ran down her arm as she felt her uncle’s hand rub against her stocking, before traveling to her inner thigh. A shaky sob escaped as Frances shook her head some. “I was just at the library, I was helping with shelving some books and I lost track of ti--I--” 

Henry’s fingers traced the spot perfectly inline between Frances legs, digging just slightly, causing a very unwilling groan to escape, her head tilting back slightly. 

Henry smiled some, digging his fingers in some more. “I think we have to align your punishment for lying, sweetheart.” The alcoholic smell from his breath made Frances nauseous, but she was becoming too dizzy to care. The man moved the ginger curls back off of her shoulder, guiding her to lay back some. They had done this plenty of times. All under the same circumstances of Frances being disobedient. 

He pressed his lips to her collarbone, removing his other hand from in between Frances’ legs when he felt them spread, though obviously not willingly. The girl slumped back, looking to him with half-lidded eyes. Henry straddled her, dropping kisses down her chest, sucking gently as he began to work the buttons on her back. 

They had done this enough times that Frances knew to no longer fight back. After five years of this, Henry had found spots that, as much as she hated to admit it, she found pleasure in. Frances’ body quivered as her uncle pressed her against the floor, sliding up her skirts and layers until her bottom half was completely exposed. 

Then her punishment began.


End file.
